Maybe, someday, we will hear the bells on Christmas Day

But until then, hate is strong, and there is no peace on earth.

We sang "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" in church today. It’s my favorite Christmas song.

It's not my favorite Christmas song because it's the most lively or upbeat (it's not). It's not about presents or Santa or reindeer. It doesn't even mention the Savior being born in a humble stable in Bethlehem. Instead of being a bastion of red and green holiday cheer, it's the only Christmas song that uses words like "despair," "hate," and "broken."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the text of the song (it was a poem, originally) on Christmas day in 1863. He wrote about hearing the bells ring during the thick of the American Civil War—in which his son had been seriously injured—and a few years after losing his wife in a tragic accident. I picture Longfellow gazing out the window of his home in Cambridge, Massachusetts, through the lightly falling snow to the church’s bell tower across the square. The chiming of the bells was, to him, the sound of hope:

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along th'unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

This is the nostalgic picture of Christmas, for many of us. But ultimately it’s not a time or an era that we crave; it’s a feeling. It’s visiting family and opening gifts and hot chocolate by the fireplace. It’s falling asleep in the backseat of the car while Mom and Dad take care of everything. It’s simple. It’s uncomplicated.

But ultimately, things are complicated. And that’s why this is also the Christmas song that feels the most relevant today, despite being written 170 years ago. Christmas bells or no, the Civil War continued to rage outside Longfellow’s study. You might argue that now is the most divided our country has been since the Civil War. There was no peace in his world, and there is no peace in ours.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

It was 8 or 9 years ago that these words became so meaningful to me. That was an inflection point in the United States; xenophobia, homophobia, and other fear and hate came out of the shadows and re-entered mainstream discourse.

It’s only worse now. Political polarization is tearing apart neighborhoods and families. Depression and anxiety are decimating a generation. White supremacists operate out in the open and even hold political office. The people most intent on “keeping Christ in Christmas” tend to be the same people vomiting hate and intolerance.

It’s a mockery. And hate is strong.

We don’t sing this song in sacrament meeting very often; it’s just not one of the more popular Christmas hymns. But the rare times we’ve sung it in church in recent years have found me quietly weeping. The text resonates too deeply. Its sentiments give melody to my private fears, fears for myself and my family that still cast long shadows even when the sun is directly overhead.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

We’ve waited years for the wrong to fail. But these words don’t say the people who are wrong will fail, and by all measures the people who espouse the vilest of hate for their neighbor have been wildly successful. Instead, our only hope is for the day when Wrong itself, when evil and its source, will be overcome. And we can only expect things to get worse until that time comes.

Till, ringing, singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

The poem ends on this happy note, with light replacing the darkness; and frankly, I’m not there yet. I’m still waiting for this night of social and spiritual darkness to end, and for the sun to come up again. Every day the news tells of another politician spouting openly racist rhetoric, an idealist shooting up a school, and millions of people rising up in hate for their fellowmen, for those who are also children of God but who look, talk, love, or believe differently.

The bells will ring again this Christmas Day. I believe they will. But amid the clamor of hate, hope may not sound like the ringing of bells. It may only be a whisper.